Fantasy Novels: Day of Reckoning
by Explodingbomb
Summary: Five worlds. Five authors. Five villains sworn to darken the worlds. And five heroes, the last hope of the worlds to defeat the Grand Brotherhood of Darkness. This is my first fic so please go easy on me :
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: A Call To Arms**

"Hey. You. Wake up."

Aragorn groaned. "Just five more minutes, mother..."

"No, seriously. Get up. It's me, your creator."

Aragorn sprang out of bed instantly, blinking away all traces of tiredness. All characters were subject to the will of their authors, and especially those of their creator. Aragorn especially liked his creator, J.R.R. Tolkien, a kindly old man who was always chewing on a pipe, dressed in slacks and a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Aragorn dearly loved Tolkien and would have done anything for him, except for the fact that...

"Hang on a second. Didn't you die in the 1980s?"

"Yes," Tolkien continued, "but now I'm back as a god. The author wanted it."

"Who is it? Is it your son?"

"No, it's some young upstart. Goes by the name of Explodingbomb."

Aragorn groaned inwardly. He knew what was coming now. He was trapped in yet another fanfic.

No less than 42,059 people had written stories about him that weren't Tolkien. Well, usually they weren't so much about him or Frodo or any of the rest of the Fellowship as some hot young elf babe the author made up. Most of them seemed to see the world through a curtain of purple prose so thick that Eragon would be ashamed, so they all got described with howlers like "big sweet azure eyes you could drown in" and "hair like a dream of cornsilk blowing in the wind". Aragorn wouldn't have minded this if he got to shack up with them once in a while, but no, they always ended up with Legolas or Boromir. Oh, how it had gone to those two's heads.

Tolkien led Aragorn into a small room, built of white marble. A stage came out from the back of the room, with a white marble table placed on it, with room for five. Five stone chairs were also arrayed in a circle. He left the room and told Aragorn, "Sit down while I bring in the others."

After a short while, Tolkien returned with two younger men. One was a boy of sixteen, dressed all in black, with a long, solemn face and lusterless brown hair. Though he was tall, the hand-and-a-half bastard sword he carried was too long for his hip, and had to be worn over his shoulder. The other was a little older, around eighteen. He wore long black robes, and unlike the other boy he was small and skinny, with rumpled black hair and owlish round glasses. He held a small piece of wood in his hand. Behind the three of them were (presumably) two more authors, one a tall woman with blond hair, dressed in a suit, the other an oldish man with a scruffy beard and stained clothes. "May I present to you Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. These are their authors, George R.R. Martin and J.K. Rowling. Please, have a seat, you two. Authors, take your place on the dais."

Tolkien sat down in the central seat of the long white table, with Rowling on his left and Martin to the far right. Harry started to make conversation with Aragorn. "Ah, so it's another fanfic we're in, is it? Meh, it's not so bad once you get used to it. I have the most fanfic stories ever written, do you know."

"Yes," replied Aragorn. "I pity you. I know what it's like, I've got the seventh most, and they're always bringing in some hot elf or another for their favourite character to bang."

"Yeah, we get a few elves at Hogwarts, but they're lost among the general mix, it's all sorts. Vampires, shape-changers, princesses, you name it. I remember in one fanfic, I got made bisexual, they turned me into an emo they thought was a goth, and then I had to fuck Draco **and **an uber-pretty goff vampire. That lucky bastard over there doesn't know what it's like, he's only ever had 19 stories."

"BASTARD??" Jon had raised himself from his chair, wrapping his hands round his sword. "_Don't call me bastard!_"

Another man had just walked into the room. He was a man of twenty, dressed in a sweater and jeans, and he was unnaturally pale with dishevelled bronze hair. He was followed by a middle-aged woman with brown hair, presumably his author, who sat down next to Tolkien (he looked displeased at that). "Yes, you definitely don't want to call him that," he said to Harry. "Jon and I got talking back outside, and he's kind of sensitive about being insulted from his bastard status. His father was some high lord that the king murdered. Thought he was a traitor or something like that." He sat down opposite Aragorn. "So who are you?"

"What, never read Lord of the Rings, pretty boy?" Aragorn smirked. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor. I'm number seven, you got any rank here?"

The man grinned. "Fourth. My name's Edward, by the way. I'm a vampire." He turned back to Harry. "So, you mentioned that you banged a vampire once. What was it like?"

Harry turned his eyes to the floor. "Hated it. And don't think you'll get a free shag out of me, I'm not bisexual no matter what fanfics you've been reading."

The final pair of men who entered were a man in a long leather coat, two pistols in holsters at his side, a cowboy hat on his head and stubble covering his chin. For his author, he had brought a middle-aged man in glasses. When they had taken their places, Tolkien stood up.

"My friends - fellow authors, noble characters - we call you together from disparate genres, from different worlds, from the minds of different authors. Yet we hold you as one alliance, the Fellowship of the Fanfic. Together, you shall be the ones to stamp out the Grand Brotherhood of Darkness."

Jon looked confused. "Grand Brotherhood of Darkness?"

Martin picked up where Tolkien left off. "Your villains wish for revenge. They wish to stamp you - and us - out for good. Together, the five have joined themselves into one united alliance. Sauron. Voldemort. Randall Flagg. James. And for their servants, an army of Others and their wights."

The tall man in the leather coat stood. "Forgive me for interrupting, but what threat could these other villains be? I have seen Randall Flagg, a ruthless assassin with many faces, and I know of his evil, but what threat could the rest be?"

Edward looked lost for a moment. Finally he spoke. "Okay, cowboy, you win. James isn't exactly a threat, never was. My whole series is just angsty romance with my human girlfriend who coincidentally happens to look a lot like my esteemed author, Ms. Stephenie Meyer. I've got no personality either, just a shallow placeholder for teenaged females to project their ideals onto. And to be honest," he grumbled, "I'm not happy about that one bit."

That was when Meyer piped up. "Um, Edward, you're not supposed to like have a personality. You're like meant to be a perfect boyfriend for m - I mean, Bella."

"Hey, leave him alone!" Jon shouted. Meyer quailed. "I come from a complex fantasy series with deep plots and characterization, so I can't really pretend to empathize with him. But nonetheless, Martin left me thinking that everyone should have a unique personality. Stay with me, Ed, we'll get you some personality soon enough."

J.K. Rowling interrupted by saying, "This has gone on long enough. We shall just give them their mission now. The villains are setting their sights on each others' worlds. We've got Sauron pouring orcs into my Earth, while we have Others stirring up trouble in Meyer's alternate world. Randall Flagg is raising armies in Westeros, and we also have James taking evil vampires to Mr. King's quasi-Wild West, and finally there's Voldemort converting Death Eaters in Middle-Earth."

King, the middle-aged man who'd brought the cowboy into the room, was the last to talk. "We shall send you to fight villains in each other's worlds. Roland, I will open this door now. Go to Westeros. Find the man in black."

Roland stepped through the door and vanished. Aragorn and Jon followed, Aragorn presumably heading for Rowling's Earth and Jon for Meyer's. Harry followed after them, headed for Middle-Earth. Edward was the last to go. As he was about to step in the door, a brilliant shaft of sunlight caught him and made his skin glitter like diamonds.

Tolkien was agape. "Is he - "

"Yeah," Meyer replied. "He's like meant to sparkle, he's like a vampire. Duh."

The other authors could not contain their laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: In Search of a Villain**

Harry was tumbling through an endless vortex of grey light, spinning round and round. It was quite similar to travelling by Floo Powder, but not as violent. Before he really knew what was

happening, he was deposited in the middle of a desolate wasteland. He was sat on the side of a mountain, the sides covered in sharp, sand-coloured rocks, and the peak rising far above

him into the clouds. The mountain looked over a stretch of flat ground, reaching as far as the eye could see, covered in dead brown grass and pools of stagnant water. After the mountains,

the only bump on the landscape was an enormous black tower looming in the distance, the Dark Mark floating over the top.

Harry felt his heart sink. He'd read the Lord of the Rings books three times, so he knew that this was Mordor, and that he was at the edge of the Emyn Muil hills. He still had the Marsh of

the Dead to get through, then, and Cirith Ungol. Or he could take a more direct route, unless the author actually remembered the existence of Minas Morgul. But it would be a difficult

task, as he had no Smeagol to guide him, or a ranger like Faramir. Hermione would probably know the spells to get out, but Harry just had to keep walking. He couldn't use magic, either,

or Voldemort would probably know.

Harry picked himself up and started to step cautiously down the mountainside. The rocks shifted under his feet, making him stumble frequently, and there were several stunted, thorny

plants that he would cut himself on. Not only that, but Harry had the distinct feeling that he was being followed, as he heard padding feet behind him, crunching on the rocks. As soon as

Harry turned around at the foot of the mountain, there was nobody there. But there was still a low mumble. A low, harsh voice was whispering, "Is that the Boy Who Lived?"

"Of course it is, idiot!" whispered a second voice. "The Dark Lord told us to watch out for him. His telekinesis told us so."

The first voice barked, "Alright, turn around with your hands in the air!"

Harry turned around cautiously. Two men were standing there, dressed in black robes, with metal masks in twisted smiles covering their faces. Death Eaters, for sure. And not only that,

they had weapons: one had a two-handed axe strapped to his back, and the other was holding a short, curved sword and a shield. An Invisibility Cloak lay crumpled on the ground next

to them. The one holding the axe said: "Well, we're not going to be using magic here. Unlike Explodingbomb, the Dark Lord actually pays attention to the fictional rules of this universe."

The one with the sword giggled. "Exactly, Alethor. Should be an easy battle for you, then."

"Quite right, Penelor." said a female voice. Harry spun around to find himself facing a familiar person. She was a girl of seventeen, with the same unnaturally pale skin as Edward, so she

was probably a vampire. She was dressed in clothes that brought to mind somebody who wanted to look gothic, but had no idea what that actually entailed. MCR and Good Charlotte badges

were pinned all over her skimpy black top, and she was wearing a lot of black make-up. Harry gritted his teeth. "Hello, Enoby."

Enoby gave a hollow chuckle. "So ur her then? Kewl. U luk kawaii. Not as kawaii as Darkrco tho. OMG Drakco iz soooo UBERSEXYKEWLkeeeeeyoooootkawaii!!!!!!!!!"

Harry sighed. "I see you still haven't learned to spell, then. And I'm NOT BI! How could you and Tara do that to me? And what kind of middle name is Dementia anyway? Seriously, you're

such a -"

Harry was cut off by Enoby ordering the Death Eaters, Alethor and Penelor, "Vlodrmoet wants Vampire laiev! Take him in bondage! He hath telekinesis!" The Death Eaters looked baffled,

but shrugged at each other, hefted their weapons and began to charge Harry down.

***

Aragorn had found himself standing in the middle of an enormous stone hall, with five long wooden tables sitting there. The roof above was painted exactly like the night sky. There was

nobody about in the hall, and it was utterly dark. Aragorn drew Anduril from its sheath, and started to creep quietly through the hall, drawing his cloak around him. He could feel that

Sauron was in this place. Why would Tolkein have sent him there if he wasn't?

Soon, Aragorn was making his way up a staircase. This was definitely a strange place. The paintings were all snoozing in their frames, but kept waking up and irritably telling Aragorn,

"Get out of here, you stupid cloak-wearing bugger! You're waking us up!" Suits of armor clanked and wheezed at the corners of the hallways, and in the distance there was a maniacal

giggling noise and a clatter of wood. Even the stairs were annoying: every so often, one would shift out of position, or Aragorn's foot would go right through a stair.

On the fourth floor, Aragorn practically tripped over a skeletal-looking cat. The cat regarded him suspiciously with its pale eyes, then started trotting away down the corridor. Aragorn

started to trail the cat through the corridors; there was something wrong about it, something a bit off. The cat eventually came running to another man, an man of about fifty with straggling

grey hair and a sneering face. He fixed a penetrating gaze upon Aragorn, then gave off a sound that was half a laugh and half a wheeze. "So, Mrs. Norris has picked up another intruder!"

The man started to lurch towards Aragorn, who raised his sword, but the man took a pair of strange metal rings, linked by a chain, and put them round Aragorn's wrists. Suddenly, he couldn't

move. The man began to lead Aragorn off. "Heh. Sauron ought to pay me a tidy price for this!"

The man lead Aragorn up many more flights of stairs, until he came to a small room. The room was hung with more dozing portraits, and humming silver instruments sat about the room.

The dead body of a magnificent red and gold bird lay in a cage. And behind a wooden table there was a chair, turned towards the fire burning in one wall. The man threw Aragorn to the floor,

then reverently dropped in a bow. "My Lord, I have another prisoner here for you."

The man in the chair hissed (probably Sauron), "Very well, Filch. You may go." Filch bowed once more, and scurried out of the office, giving another dirty glare to Aragorn as he left.

The chair spun around, and Aragorn tensed himself for death, but it was not the flaming red eye he expected to see that he saw. It was a cruel-looking man in his thirties, with greasy,

straggling black hair, unhealthy sallow skin, and a ridiculous beak of a nose. "S-Sauron?" Aragorn stuttered.

The man in the chair laughed. "Indeed, man of Gondor. I have placed myself in the body of this worm so I shall not destroy all who look upon me. I know that normally, I could not do so,

but who cares, Explodingbomb says I can." Sauron picked up a small piece of wood, and pointed it at the wall, which made a grinding sound and began to move away. He swung the

piece of wood again, almost lazily, and Aragorn flew through the air, behind the wall that had shifted away. Sauron swung the wood again, and the wall ground shut.

Aragorn had found himself in an endless black void, with absolutely no light, except for a few almost infintessimal glimmers. Finally, a voice came from the infinite void. "Aragorn? Is that

you? Thank the gods somebody's here, we haven't seen light for ages!"

"Jon?" Aragorn said, startled. "How did you get here?"

"Oh, I made it to Forks just fine. Then some girl jumped on me and started asking where Edward was and rambling about how he was as beautiful as an archangel, and I was so distracted

I didn't notice a load of Others sneaking up behind me. Edward was in this place before me. We've had nothing to do but chat, and quite frankly, I think Edward's going a bit crazy. Say, have

you got any food? We're not hungry at all, it's just we haven't eaten in weeks. I think they're meaning to make us go mad in here."

Aragorn slumped on the invisible floor. This was hopeless. There was no way to get out, unless Sauron or one of the other villains opened the door, and if they wanted them to go mad, it

probably wasn't very likely. How long was it before they captured Harry or Roland, and left them to go insane in here as well? Jon had told him that Edward already seemed to be succumbing,

and he had had an almost maniacal excitement in his voice as well. Aragorn cursed Explodingbomb. To pass the time, he began plotting what he would do with him if he ever met him.

***

Author's notes: Yeah, this chapter isn't so good. I hope you're gonna like the introduction of Enoby as one of the villains' seconds-in-command, though (for those who don't know Enoby is actually

called Ebony, and she's from the notorious Harry Potter fanfic My Immortal). Thanks to ElvenSailorGirl, my one and only reviewer. Can more people review this thing, please?


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